The car ride home was quiet.
Too quiet.
Arabelle stared out the tinted window, the city lights blurring like melted stars. Damian sat beside her, perfectly still, his jaw clenched and eyes unreadable. The illusion of the perfect couple had ended the moment they stepped out of the ballroom.
Now they were just two strangers in expensive clothes, tied together by a contract neither of them wanted.
"I didn't expect you to say that," she said finally, breaking the silence.
His voice was cold. "Say what?"
"That you married me to protect someone."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pulled off his cufflinks with slow precision, as though he were peeling off pieces of himself.
"I don't owe you explanations," he said.
Arabelle turned to face him, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "No, but maybe you owe yourself one. You act like a robot. Like this is just another business deal. But if there's someone you care about enough to sacrifice yourself for, maybe you're not as heartless as you want everyone to believe."
That got his attention. Damian's eyes snapped to hers, sharp and stormy.
"You don't know me, Arabelle. Don't pretend to."
"Maybe not," she whispered. "But I'd rather deal with the real version of you than this mask you wear all the time."
Damian leaned closer, and for a second, the air in the limousine crackled with tension. "And what if the real me is worse?"
"Then at least I'd know who I married."
Their eyes locked—challenging, searching. Neither backed down.
The car stopped in front of the Lancaster estate. Without another word, Damian stepped out, slamming the door behind him. Arabelle followed, her heels clicking against the marble driveway like gunshots in the night.
Back in her suite, Arabelle collapsed onto the vanity stool. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was flawless, hair still elegantly pinned, and the diamond earrings shimmered under the soft lighting.
But her eyes looked hollow.
Who was this woman in the mirror? Someone playing dress-up in a stranger's life? Someone pretending to be the perfect wife to a man who couldn't even look at her without a wall in his gaze?
Her chest tightened.
She stood, stepping out of the gown and into a silk robe, hoping the change in clothes would peel away the exhaustion clinging to her skin. It didn't.
A soft knock sounded.
Before she could answer, the door creaked open. Damian.
He didn't look like the composed billionaire from earlier. His tie was loose, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, and for the first time since their wedding night, he looked... human.
"What do you want?" she asked, voice sharp.
He didn't reply right away. Instead, he walked toward the window, staring out at the sprawling garden below. Moonlight spilled across the floor, catching in the shadows under his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Arabelle blinked. "What?"
"For earlier. At the gala. For everything."
She folded her arms. "Wow. Apology number one after three days of marriage. We're on a roll."
Damian turned around, eyes heavy. "You handled tonight better than I expected. I should've acknowledged that."
"You did, with a compliment that felt more like a performance review."
He gave a small, humorless laugh. "I'm not good at this."
"No kidding."
Silence fell between them again. Arabelle considered walking away, ending the conversation before it slipped into dangerous territory, but something in his expression held her still.
"Who are you protecting?" she asked softly.
Damian hesitated. "My younger sister. Evelyn."
"Evelyn... she's the one in the tabloid rumors, right? That scandal with the senator's son?"
His face darkened. "It was all fabricated. But the media doesn't care about truth. Only damage."
"And marrying me… how does that help her?"
"My family's reputation was bleeding. Investors were pulling out. A scandal on top of a failing public image would've destroyed us. A high-profile marriage was the quickest distraction. Something to rebuild our name."
Arabelle exhaled slowly. "And I was the most convenient pawn?"
"You were the one woman I knew wouldn't fall in love with me."
His words landed like a slap. "That's incredibly arrogant—or incredibly sad."
He didn't flinch. "Both."
She took a step closer. "So you married me because you thought I'd never expect more. No messy feelings. No emotional entanglements. Just a neat little contract with a bow on top."
"Isn't that what you wanted too?" he countered. "You said yes to save your father's company."
Arabelle bit her lip, guilt prickling at the edges. "Yes. But I never agreed to be treated like I don't matter."
"You do matter." His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Then act like it."
Her heart pounded in her chest. The air between them shimmered with something unspoken, something fragile.
And then—before either of them could think their way out of it—Damian stepped forward and kissed her.
It wasn't rough. Or angry. Or practiced.
It was hesitant. Almost gentle. Like he didn't know how.
Arabelle froze, every part of her stunned.
And then she kissed him back.
For a few seconds, the world stopped. There was no contract. No cameras. No pretense.
Just lips, breath, and heat.
But when he pulled away, reality returned like a crashing tide.
"This changes nothing," he said.
"Then maybe you shouldn't have kissed me," she whispered.
Damian's expression tightened. "We both needed the illusion. Just for a moment."
She swallowed hard. "And now?"
"Now we go back to pretending."
Without another word, he turned and left, leaving her alone with the taste of something dangerously real.
The next morning, Arabelle stood in the kitchen, clutching a cup of coffee like a lifeline. Her thoughts were still tangled from the kiss, from the things left unsaid.
She didn't hear Damian enter until his deep voice broke the silence.
"Morning."
She stiffened. "You're up early."
"I never really slept."
"Neither did I."
They didn't look at each other. Just sipped their drinks and let the silence say what their mouths couldn't.
Marlene entered, folder in hand. "Mr. Lancaster, your ten a.m. board meeting is moved to nine-thirty. Also, there's a press event scheduled at noon. Your wife will need to be present."
Arabelle arched a brow. "More pretending?"
Marlene smiled. "This one's on camera."
After the assistant left, Arabelle turned to Damian. "Are you going to pretend the kiss didn't happen too?"
He looked at her, eyes unreadable. "I told you—it was just a moment."
"Then let's get something straight," she said, stepping closer. "If we're going to play this game, I want boundaries. No more kisses. No more mixed signals. You either keep me as your wife on paper, or you start treating me like a real partner."
Damian's jaw flexed. "Fine."
"Fine."
They stood there for another long beat.
Then she turned and walked away, heels clicking like punctuation marks.
She didn't see the way Damian watched her leave.
Or how his hand curled into a fist—like he was trying to hold something back.